


The Butterfly Knife Effect

by eristicStudy



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Additonal tags will be added as stuff comes up, Canon Compliant, F/F, F/M, Gender Dysphoria, Jack-typical violence, M/M, MSPA Snapchat Compliant, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 04:55:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22490410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eristicStudy/pseuds/eristicStudy
Summary: or "The MSPA Snapchat Never Stopped Being a Thing, and Jujus Never Stopped Being Indestructable"A continuation of the MSPAofficial snapchat and an exploration of the ramifications of Earth C's newest exile on the people who worked so hard to escape him.
Relationships: Bec Noir/Ms. Paint, Draconian Dignitary & Jack Noir, Jack Noir/Ms. Paint, John Egbert/Terezi Pyrope
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	The Butterfly Knife Effect

**Author's Note:**

> If you have not read the MSPAofficial Snapchat, I recommend you look at the rehost here: https://mspfa.com/?s=20932&p=1
> 
> I have not written fiction, fan or otherwise, in nearly a decade. This is gonna be rough.

You’re the Surviving Scourge, and you have just crash landed a cramped oven onto an alien world.

You’d say your friends call you Jack, but they’re all dead. Most of them you killed yourself, during a day-long solar powered rage in which you destroyed the universe. 

Though you do not have friends, you do have a crew. It is made up of 10 brain-dead peons, 2 tolerable drudges, and a Prospitian dame who thought you were someone else. In your possession are your favorite knives, some trophies you got off a mausoleum's worth of long-dead stiffs, and one dangerously un-staunched arm stub.

This is, all in all, an improvement from your condition less than 24 hours ago when you were the King of Derse fleeing from a particularly attractive and enraged mail-woman. (Technically you were the Queen, but your particular Derse and the Great Green Croaker it was housed in was rendered into ash years ago, so who’s really keeping track?)

You and your motley crew are marching towards a dense skyscraper-filled horizon. The dame keeps bugging you to rest. You keep telling her you don’t got time to rest. Rest is for men without goals, you say. The Dignitary always said that you function better when you’ve got goals. Always said you need “structure”. You think that’s true to an extent, but only so far as not having structure means not having anything left to conquer.

You decide to take a moment to solidify and itemize your current goals, as is befitting a meticulous ex-Archagent like yourself.

1) Get into that city.  
2) Make it your bitch.  
3) Get to the broad that locked you in the oven.  
4) Stab her.  
5) Repeat #4 till you get bored.

You still really don’t understand what the point of her little mind-control song and dance even was. She does know that jujus are indestructible, right? Not that her reasoning mat-

The world spins wildly as you fall and...

  


You find yourself swept up in the dame’s arms in an instant. She’s clicking her tongue and telling you that you should’ve listened to her earlier about letting her bandage up your wounds.

God damn pansy-ass body. Can’t handle a little blood loss? What the fuck happened to Jack Noir, the Sovereign goddamn Slayer? Maybe not eating or drinking or sleeping for three years is finally catching up with you. Maybe it’s the concussion. Maybe you’re just getting old. In any case, you’re not gonna get to that city like this. Why would you even want to walk all that way? You’ve got underlings for a reason.

You holler at the nearest toady, a big guy with a 14 on his hat. You tell him to go get One, have him continue ahead and bring back some transportation.

One what, he asks you. The “one” guy, you tell him. The guy with the one hat.

He says that you’re gonna need to be more specific. He says that everyone here is wearing a hat. 

This goes on for a while. Everything starts getting hazy partway through, but this soup the broad is giving you is helps clear up your head. Eventually the fourteen guy realizes who you’re talking about, and sends Itchy out to the city to get some wheels. 

Damn good soup, you grumble. She asks you what you said. You tell her she’s a good cook. She laughs the compliment off, says it’s more of a hobby. You ask her what her real thing is then. She tells you she paints.

The broad seems more at ease now that you’re letting her tend to all the bleeding. She’s charming, real pretty too. Definitely a real catch. Makes you feel sorry for the rotting stiff she came into the Incipisphere with. Not that you have much sympathy to spare for the kinda chump who’d let himself get offed with a girl like this waiting for him.

His loss. 


End file.
